


meglio stasera

by leapylion3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb moves to take off his crown, but Jon shoots out a hand before he can, grabbing him by the wrist. “Leave it on,” Jon breathes, his voice husky.</p><p>Robb swallows thickly, meeting Jon’s eyes. “Why?” He furrows his brows, a hint of amusement in his tone.</p><p>Jon shrugs a shoulder and smiles impishly. “I like it when you wear it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	meglio stasera

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Jon likes it when Robb is wearing his crown as he fucks him.

 

Being King Robb’s Hand has certain advantages. Sure, Jon has to work his arse off all day long whilst trying to keep the North under control, and it’s not always an easy feat. But, Jon is allowed luxuries he was never allowed when he was simply the Bastard of Winterfell. He is not a materialistic man, but the touch is still a nice change.

He is waited on hand and foot, although not everyone holds love for him; to some, he is nothing but a Night’s Watch deserter, or a lowly bastard. No one dares to insult him to his face, but he can hear gossip in the marketplace or between servants. The comments still sting, but Robb is sure to make up for them when they are alone in their chambers at night.

Jon’s favourite part of being Hand of the King is that he gets to be by Robb’s side almost every moment of the day. There are usually other people around, but Robb will spare him a smile, and even his presence next to him is welcome. Sometimes, at supper, with the tablecloth covering them, Jon will sneak a hand into Robb’s trousers, making jokes about behind the Hand of the King all the while.

Robb and Jon go to their chambers late that night after the feast; with a sigh, the king locks the door behind him. “Gods, I thought that would never end.” He unpins his cloak and hangs it up, and Jon notices the slight slump to his brother’s shoulders. They’re still rebuilding Winterfell, have been for months now. There’s so much to be done and Jon’s not sure if they’ll ever finish.

“You did fine,” Jon assures him, moving Robb to the edge of the bed. The auburn haired boy sits down, looking up at Jon. Even with dark bags under his eyes and messy hair, Robb manages to look regal. Whenever the crown rests upon his brow, he seems to stand a bit straighter, a little taller.

Jon sits behind Robb and massages his neck, easing the tight and knotted muscles. Jon grows hard at the sound of Robb’s content groans, and he leans forward to pepper Robb’s neck with kisses. He reaches around and unties Robb’s doublet, the leather garment falling to the floor in an unwanted pile. The young king’s tunic follows suit, Robb’s bare chest and back scorching hot against Jon’s fingertips.

Robb turns around and pushes Jon onto his back, attacking his mouth with hungry kisses. His hands tear at Jon’s clothing, and in a matter of moments, Jon is left in only his pair of smallclothes, which have grown highly constricting against his hardness. He flushes under Robb’s appreciative gaze; he feels embarrassed and wanton all at the same time.

Robb moves to take off his crown, but Jon shoots out a hand before he can, grabbing him by the wrist. “Leave it on,” Jon breathes, his voice husky.

Robb swallows thickly, meeting Jon’s eyes. “Why?” He furrows his brows, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Jon shrugs a shoulder and smiles impishly. “I like it when you wear it.” He pulls Robb down for another kiss, his tongue slipping into Robb’s mouth as his fingers tangle in the auburn locks. He helps Robb wiggle out of his breeches and they get tossed aside.

Robb presses kisses down Jon’s chest, his tongue tracing the age-old scars. Jon moans and rolls his hips when he feels Robb’s teeth grazing his hipbone, latching onto the waistband of his smallclothes. The spikes on the end of each point of the crown lightly scratch Jon, but the faint pain only heightens his pleasure as Robb takes him in his mouth. Jon’s hands twist in the furs, grasping for purchase; he finds himself unable to reach down and tangle his fingers in Robb’s hair, for fear of knocking off the crown. 

Jon’s back arches off of the bed when Robb’s tongue curls around the head of his cock, running over his already leaking slit. Robb’s cheeks hollow as he takes Jon even deeper in his mouth, making a contented noise at the back of his throat, one that goes all the way through Jon, vibrating, and tightening the coil deep in his belly. Robb plants kisses the length of Jon’s cock, his tongue running up the base of it and licking the pre-come from the tip. 

Jon’s vision goes white and he sees stars. He can faintly hear himself chanting nonsense mixed with Robb’s name as he comes, his hands tugging and clawing at the sheets. Robb swallows every last drop of Jon’s seed, his mouth crashing against Jon’s so he can taste himself on Robb’s tongue. 

Robb looks beautiful, Jon thinks; under the crown, his hair is matted and messy, damp with sweat. His lips are wet and swollen, his cheeks flushed red. “I would have you now,” Robb growls, nipping at Jon’s jaw line, “if I may.” 

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Jon gasps, clutching onto Robb’s shoulders. Robb grins wolfishly and reaches over, grabbing the oil lamp from the nightstand. Robb shimmies out of his smallclothes and rubs oil onto his cock; Jon stares, tantalized, and licks his lips subconsciously.

Robb nudges Jon’s knees apart, and Jon obliges, spreading his legs obscenely wide (though he doesn’t have the grace right now to be ashamed, or care). Robb thrusts into Jon, his hands on Jon’s hips, pinning him to the bed. The crown falls lower onto Robb’s brow, and with every thrust, Jon thinks it will fall off. He is proved wrong, time and time again. 

“So fucking tight,” Robb groans, burying his face in Jon’s neck. Jon kisses Robb’s shoulders, his hands cupping his arse to bring him closer. Jon’s legs wrap around Robb’s waist, and he lets out a choked cry when Robb’s hand curls around his cock, stroking him until he’s fully hard again. 

Jon captures Robb’s mouth, nipping at the well of the king’s lower lip. “Gods, I love your mouth,” Robb pants, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic as he’s closer to finishing. “You’ll suck my cock after, won’t you? Your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock…” He peaks with a shout, muffled by Jon’s hair. Jon moans and circles his hips as Robb’s seed fills him, his own spurting onto his and Robb’s stomachs. 

They collapse side by side on the bed afterwards. Jon pulls Robb to him, their chests fitting perfectly against each other. Robb still wears his crown; Jon can see the imprints it makes on the pillows. He burrows his face into the crook of Robb’s neck, inhaling the familiar smell of him. 

“Why do you like the crown so much?” Robb asks quietly, his fingers stroking Jon’s hair. 

“I don’t know,” Jon admits, leaning into the touch. He remembers Robb’s earlier words and smiles against Robb’s neck; _“You’ll suck my cock after, won’t you?”_ “Robb?”

“Hmm?”

Jon smiles wickedly, pushing the furs off and pinning Robb to the bed. He covers Robb’s chest with kisses, encouraged by Robb’s throaty whimpers. He rests his cheek on Robb’s thigh, too close to Robb’s cock, a tease. With a laugh in his voice, he stares up at his king, his eyes sparkling; “You’re the only king I’d bend the knee to.”      


End file.
